"Something's wrong." John knew that must have been the fifth time he'd said that in the last two days, but it was still met by the same stoic shrug from the detective.

"No it isn't."

"I'm not stupid, Sherlock."

"That's news to me."

John sighed.

Was it even worth pushing it, at this point...?

Even after his long absence, John knew Sherlock fairly well, behaviour-wise. He could tell when something seemed off, even if Sherlock wouldn't admit it.

"I'm perfectly alright, believe me." Sherlock finally glanced up from his experiment at the kitchen table. "You're just not used to having me back."

"No, that's not it. I'm a little concerned. I am your doctor, after all."

Sherlock only shook his head and went back to whatever it was he was dissecting. "I don't need a doctor."

"Yeah, that's right. You need a fucking behavioural therapist."

"And a cup of tea, if you're getting up."

"Say please. We can start there."

Sherlock stopped and considered for a moment, a little to John's surprise. "With honey. Please."

"Well." John raised his eyebrows. "I'm a little shocked that actually worked."

"Don't push your luck. And add lemon, too."


The detective's mood seemed to be declining quickly. A whole day passed in which he didn't get up from the couch, though he still searched the blog ceaselessly for an interesting case to occupy his mind.

He didn't seem to be having any luck, however.

John couldn't exactly put his finger on what it was, but there was just something different about him.

Something unfamiliar.

It probably shouldn't have been all that worrying, but with all things considered, and everything that had happened in the past two years, John couldn't force himself to drop it.

Maybe he was just being paranoid.

And maybe it was his imagination, but Sherlock did seem slightly paler these days.

More on edge?

Could that be because he was still thinking about whomever it was that had targeted John? Or was it something much more shallow and expected?

Perhaps he was bored?

Maybe.


"What's wrong?"

No answer.

"You haven't spoken all day. I know something's up, Sherlock." When he still didn't get an answer from the detective John growled moodily under his breath and sighed. "This is ridiculous. You're ridiculous. I'm sick of this, you know?"

"...Turn the AC back on."

"What?" John paused, tilting his head. "But it's nearly -6 degrees outside. There's no way I'm letting it get any colder in here."

"It's not cold." Sherlock got to his feet slowly and headed for his room, dragging his feet a bit. "You're the ridiculous one..."

John's instincts were kicking in, and his doctor's ears perked up.

Could it be...?

But it never was...

Maybe...

He stood and walked after him purposefully. "Sherlock, let me feel your forehead."

"What? No. I said I didn't need a doctor, and I don't. Leave me alone... I just want to sleep."

"You never want to sleep." John crossed his arms over his chest sternly. "Maybe I'd believe you more if your hands weren't shaking."

Sherlock only cast him a doleful, tired look over his shoulder and continued walking without another word.

"If you don't cooperate, then I can't help you."

"I don't need help."

"You're a moron, Sherlock."